


aún no me toca (olvidarme de ti)

by Flywoman



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest, Transfer Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flywoman/pseuds/Flywoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will brotherly love be enough to keep Thiago in Barcelona?</p>
            </blockquote>





	aún no me toca (olvidarme de ti)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by increasingly insistent transfer rumors and [these](https://twitter.com/rafinha_alc93/status/351031798656032768/photo/1) [tweets](http://instagram.com/p/bJ30r4kYH8/#).

"Thiago, don't go!" his baby brother pleaded.

He risked a grin off across the vast expanse of turquoise sea, then turned, took two quick steps, and launched himself into the small deck pool. Locating Rafinha by his surprised yelp in response to the ensuing wave of cool water, Thiago forced his eyes open against the sting of chlorine, grabbed at a dangling ankle, and yanked.

Rafinha's sun-warmed skin slid obediently against his belly, the insides of his thighs. They sank together, laughing and spluttering, their limbs hopelessly entangled, then stopped struggling and stuck their tongues out at each other for a few seconds before peeling apart and standing up.

Water streamed off Rafinha's bronzed body, creating a million sparkles in the Mediterranean sun, leaving Thiago almost blinded by his brother's radiance. Underneath, every plane and curve, every beauty spot, every blemish, was as familiar as if it were his own, and so was the voice that now croaked, "You are SO going to pay."

Thiago only snorted and tossed him a towel, then plucked a second from the pile and gave his own tight curls a rough rub.

Rafinha emerged, grimacing, from under his own towel and swiped vigorously at his smooth chest, his flat belly, his broad shoulders. Water dripped down from the drenched baseball cap he hadn't had time to take off. "It's so nice out here. Just stay a little longer."

"All right," Thiago conceded. "But I'm going to need to put on some sunscreen."

"Pussy," his brother sneered.

Thiago cupped his hand to his ear. "What was that? Were you saying, 'Never mind, _hermano_ , why don't you go inside instead of letting me rub this lotion on your back?'"

Rafinha's smirk slid slowly into something softer and more seductive. He tossed the towel behind him, sat down, and patted the cushion next to him in invitation.

Thiago forced himself to stroll over slowly, his towel slung over one shoulder. He reached down for the bottle of sunscreen, watching Rafinha's Adam's apple bob out of the corner of his eye, then handed it to him and sank down gracefully beside him.

"Turn around," his brother husked in his ear.

He did, and closed his eyes, and sighed in pure animal pleasure as his neck and shoulders were caressed in sweet, familiar strokes. Strong yet gentle hands circled his sharp shoulderblades, slicked down the small of his back, his brother's unsteady breaths lifting the hairs at the nape of his neck.

"You still haven't said anything about my contract extension," Rafinha said suddenly.

 _Talk about a mood killer._ Thiago stiffened and sighed. "What did you want me to say?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know. How about 'Congratulations'?"

"Congratulations," Thiago said dully.

"That's it?" Rafinha sounded sincerely hurt. "But Thiago. It means I'll be here for three more years. I'll get promoted. We'll finally be able to play on the same team again!"

Thiago turned on him, the pressure of the past few weeks, no, months, finally coming to a head. "Is that really what you think? Open your eyes, Rafinha. You could be loaned out to, I don't know, freaking _Ajax_ tomorrow. Or you could rot on the bench all season like Jona and wish to God you'd had the sense to go someplace else."

Rafinha just looked at him, a quizzical tilt to his head. "My place is right here. In Barcelona. With you."

"With me," Thiago repeated bitterly, turning away from his brother's unwavering gaze. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. "Fuck you."

"I just meant-"

"I know what you meant," Thiago said tightly. "I thought you were the one person I could count on. Not to do this. To... to _understand_."

"I do understand," Ranfinha shouted at his back. "I understand that you're frustrated. I understand that you want to play more and that you're afraid of staying in Xavi's shadow forever. But that doesn't mean there's no place for you here. That doesn't mean you're not _loved_." On the last word, he threw his arms around Thiago's waist, tucking his still-damp face between his neck and shoulder.

Thiago held himself perfectly still. "Love," he enunciated carefully, hating himself just a little, "won't get me a call-up to Brazil next summer."

"You don't know that," his brother responded, his voice muffled. Thiago could feel Rafinha trembling where he pressed against his back, in the sinewy arms about his waist. "And even if you go off and become a fucking EPL star, what makes you think that _Del Bosque_ is going to bench Xavi instead of you?"

"Well. There is that," Thiago admitted.

"So you'll stay?" Hopefully, like the child who had wanted so badly to believe that the Three Kings actually left those gifts in his track shoes every year.

"Rafinha, I..." It was Thiago's turn to plead. "You know that I would do anything for you. But. Please don't ask for... I'm _begging_ you."

His brother shuddered against him, gulped against the tears that Thiago knew were threatening to overflow his eyes.

"It wouldn't be for long," Thiago assured him. "A couple of years and we'd be together again for good."

Rafinha gulped again, noisily. "Promise?"

Thiago squeezed his hands hard, then twisted around and kissed him, touched their foreheads together and looked straight into his anxious eyes. "That's a promise."

***

Later, lying on his back in his bedroom with his drowsy brother drooling onto the pillow beside him, he checked his Twitter account and smiled at the photo of the two of them sprawled in their swim trunks on the deck, feet dangling in the cool blue water. Rafinha had added the hashtags "#summer #bro #holidays."

Impulsively, he retweeted the photo with his own caption, "I ❤Barcelona," then tossed his phone on the bedside table, wrapped his arm around his brother's waist, and closed his eyes, confident that Rafinha would eventually understand.


End file.
